I fight to hold back my tears as adrenaline and uncertainty spear through me, but lose the battle when he smears the single escaped tear from my cheek with his thumb. If he were to continue his domineering assholery, I could pull myself back together and save the emotions for later, but the pleasure and concern etched into his features break me.
One moment, I’m on my knees with his massive cock in my mouth, and the next, I’m pressed against his chest with his arms wrapped around me.
Too overwhelmed by the day’s unexpected events, I sob harder than I have in years, uncertain what pushed me over the edge, but too far out of my comfort zone to rein my emotions back in.
His massive arms create a safe, comfortable place to fall apart, but when I realize my tears soak his expensive suit, I huff in exasperation and pull myself back together with thoughts of protecting my brother.
I tell myself I’m not dirty. Giorgio Vivaldi is my future husband, and he was surprisingly gentle and patient with me.
But I never thought my first sexual interaction would be so… intense yet one-sided. And in a bathroom, of all places. I never expected to feel so empowered despite how powerless I’d been on my knees.
And it’s all because of him. Giorgio Vivaldi. He wasn’t cruel or unyielding. In fact, his taunting helped me feel more in control.
And now he holds me in his arms like he cherishes me. It’s too much.
I need him as an ally, but I can’t lose sight of what’s at stake by allowing my emotions to interfere, so I swallow the lump in my throat—enjoying the residual salty tang of his release—and wipe my tears away with the back of my hands.
“I’m okay. You can let me go now,” I say.
“In a minute.”
His curt response raises my hackles.
“No. Now.”
He sighs and strokes his fingers through my hair.
“You may be okay, but I’m not. Be still, mia topolina, and let me hold you while I recover.”
His admission shouldn’t fill me with pride, but it does, so I lean my forehead on his hard chest and focus on regulating my breathing. The feel of his semi-hard cock against my stomach fills me with perverse interest and an unexpected sense of intimacy.
When he weaves his fingers into my hair and tugs my face up to meet his gaze, my stomach bottoms out and the heat simmering low in my belly flames as though he poured gasoline down my throat instead of his semen.
He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip and studies my face with hooded eyes.
“Let me taste myself on your tongue.”
The deep, guttural quality of his voice obscures his words, but when I register what he means, heat rushes to my face. Yet as he lowers his head to mine, I don’t pull away.
I should smack him, turn away, and remind him of his promises, but I can’t. Not when he asks for permission and looks at me with such hungry eyes.
Especially not when I want another kiss from him.
His unhurried yet predatory approach steals the breath from my lungs, and when he groans in delight, wonder fills my chest.
I brought this terrifyingly huge and menacing man to the heights of pleasure.
The soft exploration of his tongue carries me away from reality as he deepens the kiss, and when he pulls away, urgency pulses through my clit.
“You’re perfect, Aurora. I can’t wait to taste every inch of you, so let’s finish this thing with our parents and go sign some papers,” he murmurs against my lips.
I shiver and nod.
He chuckles and pushes me toward the sink with a hand on my ass.
I turn on the faucet and absently cup some water into my mouth as he tucks his cock into his underwear and rights his trousers. My mouth waters at the intimate act, but I mentally kick myself and focus on erasing evidence of the last few minutes as best I can.
After running my hands through my hair, I count it a loss and tie it up with the hair band on my wrist.
Since my purse is at the table, I don’t have my makeup, but after washing my hands and splashing water onto my face, I dab dry with the hand towel and pull my lipstick out of my pocket.
I pause and stare at my reflection in shock. My lips have never been so swollen, my cheeks have never been so flushed, nor have my eyes sparkled so brightly. After my sleepless night, fretful morning, and stressful afternoon, I expected to look pale and withdrawn, but I look more alive than ever before.
I swallow and apply a light coat of lipstick before tucking it back into my pocket and turning to meet Giorgio’s gaze. The appreciation in his eyes confounds me.
Without a word, he tucks me against his side and leads me into the dining room, but when I try to return to my original spot, he tugs me closer and guides me to the chair beside his. I stiffen and try to pull away, but he ignores my attempts and pushes me down into the seat with firm yet careful hands.
My mother’s glare sends ice down my spine.
After requesting the server change my place setting, Giorgio settles into his chair, picks up his drink, and leans back as though nothing happened.
I swallow and study his parents’ faces. The crease between Bianca’s eyes displays her unhappiness while Matteo’s raised brows show his surprise. My father’s tight smile sends dread through my limbs.
“Aurora, honey, are you alright?”
My mother’s fake concern curdles my stomach. She’s never once called me honey without a crowd. Bile rises in my throat.
Giorgio sets down his drink, and on impulse—and needing something to do with my hands—I pick it up and drain half the glass before my brain catches up with my movements.
Embarrassment heats my face at my audacity, but at least now the taste of vomit no longer lingers at the back of my throat.
As I set down the glass, Giorgio drapes his arm across the back of my chair and melts every molecule in my body with a scorching look. I swear my brain leaks right out of my ears, because I just stare at him like an idiot.
A harried server, full of apologies, breaks my stupor. I blink and peel my gaze away from Giorgio’s and stiffen as I meet my mother’s narrowed eyes.
“I’m fine, Mamma,” I lie.
When awkward silence descends, I realize my parents don’t dare question Giorgio despite their curiosity. Even his own parents hesitate.
He uses the opportunity to take over the conversation.
“Aurora and I spoke. She’ll continue to live at home until after our wedding, but we’ll sign a prenup this afternoon and start our efforts to grow our family as soon as possible.”
No one moves for a moment. I fight the urge to shrink into my seat, unwilling to show an ounce of uncertainty when every individual in this room would happily bleed me dry and toss me aside without an ounce of guilt.
Everyone except Giorgio. I hope.
He’s kept his word so far, and I want to trust him, so I put my faith in him. Kind of.
“Mio figlio, that’s wonderful news. We also had a discussion while you were gone, and I think we raised some important issues,” Bianca Vivaldi says.
My mother picks up the conversation.
“Aurora will visit your physician for a full workup in the morning, and since you’re so busy, I’ll go with her.”
Her thinly veiled threat hits deep behind my sternum, but there’s nothing more I can do to ensure my bloodwork comes back as normal. I haven’t skipped a single dose of my medicine in years and feel as close to normal as I can. Plus, it’s been almost seven years since I’ve had symptoms.
But there’s always a possibility my numbers will be off enough to cause suspicion.
“I’ll clear my schedule and take her myself. You don’t need to join us.”
I swing my attention to Giorgio, surprised by his response.
His stony expression brooks no argument, but my mother foolishly pushes. Realizing she may arouse more suspicion, I choose the path of least resistance and place my hand on Giorgio’s thigh, ensuring I have his full attention.
“I’d like her to come, too. It’ll be nice to have you both there.”
It feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told in my entire life, but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my brother from my mother’s ire, and when I realize just how much of Giorgio’s attention I have, the sour taste leaves my mouth. His dark eyes bore into mine as he leans a little closer and shifts his leg in my grip. The hard ridge of his cock nudges my fingertips.
“Since it’s already so late in the day, why don’t I book you an appointment with our lawyer for tomorrow morning after Aurora’s physical? I think that’s a better use of everyone’s time instead of scrambling to meet the lawyer today,” Matteo Vivaldi says.
Giorgio pulls his eyes away from mine and contemplates his father’s offer before nodding. I wonder if anyone else notices his reluctance, but if they do, they don’t show it.
With business matters settled, our parents move on to other topics. I thank the server for the new dishes and try to slip my hand off Giorgio’s leg, but he reaches across his lap and pins my wrist in place. Among talk of wedding venues, flowers, and cake decorations, he drops his arm from the back of my chair, swaps hands, and feeds me food from his plate. Moths flutter in my abdomen, but I refuse to admit how much I enjoy his attentiveness, so I pretend to listen to the conversation.
Matteo stands, signaling the end of lunch, and pulls Bianca’s chair out for her. Giorgio tightens his grip on my wrist and dabs his napkin over my lips. My insides clench as he allows the fabric to slip away. His thumb skims over my bottom lip. Lava pools between my legs as his eyes morph to melted dark chocolate. He pulls my lip down before trailing his fingers down the front of my throat.
When his knuckles brush against my breasts, I suck in a breath, but he plucks the napkin from my lap and tosses it onto the table before surging to his feet.
My legs wobble, but he pulls me to his side and hooks my hand over his forearm.
The stroll down the hall only reinforces how much bigger and stronger he is than me. I swallow and fix my purse over my shoulder as my parents hover by the front door, obviously waiting for me to say goodbye to our hosts, but Giorgio gestures for them to lead the way down the hall without releasing my arm.
He escorts me down the stairs and opens the car door for me. Before I can slip into my seat, he pulls me flush against him and leans down to murmur in my ear.
“Sleep well tonight, mia topolina, because tomorrow I’m going to explore every inch of you over and over again, until there’s no doubt who you belong to.”
My mind blanks even as adrenaline and lust rush through my veins. I blink and blindly accept his help as he guides me into my seat. As reality teases the edges of my mind, I cling to the addictive sensations he spurred within me, avoiding the panic rising in me with every ounce of energy I have.
If I think about what just happened in that bathroom, I’ll never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.
With my eyes open but seeing nothing, I ride in silence until my mother’s voice breaks my stupor.
“I’ll talk with you after our dinner reservation. Do not leave the house between now and then, unless someone from the Vivaldi family requests your appearance.”
She doesn’t wait for my response before accepting the attendant’s hand and exiting the vehicle. I take a deep, steadying breath, and follow her into the horrorville I’ve called home my entire life.
With my mind reeling but the house too busy with the staff running through their chores to chance doing less legal tasks on my computer, I close myself in my room and take a quick shower. As I watch the bubbles disappear down the drain, part of me laments losing the lingering scent of Giorgio’s cologne, but I shove the thought to the far corner of my mind and focus on surviving the evening.
Any thoughts of tomorrow will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m stretched too thin emotionally to handle more.
After dressing, I putter around my room for an hour or two, assuring myself the stashes of cash and other gear—most of which I realize won’t be for me anymore—remain hidden as I pretend to clean. When I realize Tristan won’t be home for another two hours, I settle in front of my computer and complete another week and a half of college assignments with relative ease, only opening my textbook a handful of times.
I slam my book closed and grind my teeth as a wave of futility washes over me.
My parents washed years’ worth of studying down the drain in less than a day. My escape plan won’t work, not without major changes. In fact, the secondary and emergency exits will only land my brother in a worse situation than he is now.
I power off my computer, avoiding any rash decisions, and push my chair in before sliding my phone in my back pocket and rushing out the side door to meet Tristan as he launches himself out of the van the second the attendant opens the door.
I thank Mr. Hearthright and, after a quick discussion, he agrees to extend tomorrow’s activities until after dinner.
The band around my chest loosens as I enjoy Tristan’s enthusiastic retelling of his day. He scarfs down dinner and bounces in his seat, eager to tell his online friends about his adventure. I soak up his happiness as I pick at my food, and after hanging out in his room for a little while, I realize I can’t put off sharing this news for fear of our mother telling him in the most hurtful way possible.
“Hey, Tristan, I bet my day was crazier than yours.”
He sighs, rolls his eyes, and bounces his ball off the wall again before responding.
“How can you say that when I already told you I fed a giraffe at the zoo today? Its tongue was blue, Rora. Blue.”
“Oh, it’s crazier than that,” I say as I pretend to flip through the nearest book on his headboard.
“Really?”
I take a deep breath and prepare to rip off the theoretical Band-Aid now that I’ve piqued his interest.
“Yep. I’m getting married.”
He purses his mouth in the most adorable display of disgust.
“Why would you do that?”
I shrug. He rolls his eyes.
“Mamma and Papà said you have to, didn’t they?”
I nod.
“Well, did you meet him? Do you like him? Is he handsome? I’m going to marry someone pretty and smart, like you. Is he nice? Also, this is not as crazy as feeding a giraffe.”
I laugh and toss the book onto his bedside table, relieved at his response.
“Yes, I met him. I’m not sure if I like him, but I guess he is handsome. And how is this not crazier? The giraffes are always at the zoo. I’ll only get married once,” I say, purposefully skipping whether or not Giorgio is nice and hoping Tristan doesn’t notice.
He pauses his rhythmic tossing of the ball and tilts his head in thought.
“Just because something only happens once doesn’t make it crazier, only rarer.”
My heart gives a bittersweet squeeze. He’s growing too fast. I cross my arms and give him a skeptical once-over.
“Who are you and what did you do with my brother?”
He sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Seriously, when did you get so smart?” I ask.
When our conversation devolves into fake insults and nonsensical teasing, I decide to drop the topic. He’s obviously not ready to talk about how my wedding changes his future. I’ll give him a day or two to digest the news before diving deeper into the specifics.
Hell, I’m not even sure right now. Fear closes my throat.
After a quick pillow fight, I wrap him in a hug and drop my cheek to the top of his head. I fight back tears as he hugs me back without hesitation.
He grumbles at my nagging, but I close his door and make it to the top of the stairs before a wave of emotion crashes over me. I lean against the wall, close my eyes, and regulate my breathing.
The front door opens. I meet my mother’s eyes. Her face hardens. A bodyguard steps through the front door with my father staggering under his arm. Thankfully, the alcohol running through my father’s veins slurs his words. With a disgusted scowl, my mother gestures for the man to take my father to his bed.
I press my back against the wall and offer both men a tight smile as they pass. My father doesn’t even notice my presence. He’s too lost in his own demons.
My heart pounds as my mother stops in front of me. When she motions for me to follow her without a word, dread forms like a rock in my stomach.
She stops in front of my room. I quietly release my breath, but she sticks out her upturned palm, so I slip my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.
Instead of opening my door, she demands I follow her.
Tingling numbness rises from my toes when she stops in front of the utility closet.
She hasn’t threatened to close me inside in five years, but her bitter expression tells me she won’t change her mind this time. Cotton stuffs my ears and pressure builds in my head when she swings open the door and flicks on the light.
“You refused to fuck Giorgio Vivaldi, didn’t you?”
The cotton muffles her words. I stare at the two unused yoga mats—one pink for my mother and the other blue for my father—rolled in the back corner of the closet.
“No man who sticks his dick in a woman stays as interested as he was during lunch. You’re stringing him along, aren’t you?”
I can’t refute nor agree with her. My vision narrows and memories sneak closer.
“You’re acting out because you’re afraid of getting pregnant, aren’t you? Even after I told you to behave.”
The air thins.
“Get in.”
I can’t move.
“Get in before I drag your brother out to join you.”
I shuffle forward on legs made of rubber. She shuts and locks the door behind me.
I’m okay. She didn’t toss me in. I walked in on my own two feet. There’s no screaming outside. Bright fluorescent light illuminates the space. Linens and cleaning equipment line the shelves instead of canned goods. My brother’s tiny infant body isn’t weighing down my arms. He’s in his room. Comfortable. Safe. I’m okay.
I’m not okay.
The walls close in. Pressure builds in my head.
I tuck my back into the corner beside the yoga mats and curl into a ball. My mind splinters. I press both hands over my mouth and sob, but no tears flow down my face.
If I make noise, they’ll find us. They’ll kill us. We’ll scream and beg for them to stop, but they won’t. They’ll laugh and hurt us even worse. They’ll hit and threaten us until we can’t scream anymore.
Just like they did my aunt.
